Please Avoid a Church Called "마지막 식사"
Hey, guys. My name is Hayong and I really need your help. Last Sunday, my wife and I were driving around one of the busier parts of Daejeon, South Korea. You see, believe it or not, I’m actually quite the religious person, and we recently left our last church so we were driving around till we found a church that sparked our interest. Shit, basically we were trying to find a church that had an English section. We both suck at Korean even after a year of living here. After driving around for over 30 minutes, we decided to park the car and walk around since we were on the busier side of Daejeon called Dunsan-Dong. Tall buildings, litter on the street, speeding cars, and busy pedestrians surrounded us while we tried to look around as quickly as we could while keeping up with the speed of the other people. I don’t know how or why I even noticed the church in the first place, but it was placed on the third floor of a building fortified by decaying bricks and littered with windows permanently stained a yellowish hue. It may have been the short, long, and blue sign that said in white letters, "마지막 식사", which translated to "The Last Supper", or the sound of English songs being sung, but I tapped on my wife’s shoulder and we both stopped in front of the building and listened for a second before heading inside. The building didn’t have any elevators so we walked up the two flights of stairs. Every step we took, the sound of their singing seemed to get dramatically louder. When we got to the third floor I had to stop for a second. The sound of their singing was almost deafening and it took everything out of me to not cover my ears. After standing still for a second, I walked up to the door, took a deep breath, and opened the door. There were only 7 people including the pastor inside of the church. They were singing, but it was almost in a whisper. Confused by the sudden volume change, I stood in front of the door for a couple of seconds before I felt my wife tap on my back. I walked inside and sat in the back of the church. I looked around and saw that there were 15 simple foldable chairs all around the room. The pastor stood in front of a beaten down wooden pulpit. A couple of people in the chairs took a look at us but didn’t really greet us or act happy that we were even there. They sang around 4 more songs before the pastor cleared his throat, closed his eyes, and prayed. His prayer was a bit strange and insanely short. I still remember his prayer. ”Lord, May our sacrifice be received by you with open arms. May the blood that falls and flesh ripped off be consumed in your glory. Amen.” Once the prayer was over, the pastor looked at every single one of us and said, “Turn to Mark 14:12-26” once we flipped to where the scripture was we waited silently until the pastor droned on and on about the Last Supper. He kept repeating the same line over and over again. “The Last Supper was another form of sacrifice given to us by the Messiah. He showed us that he was prepared to sacrifice his life for our sins.” Around 30 minutes into his sermon, I started to get bored and looked over at my wife. She was staring intently at the pastor and looked to be engulfing every single word spoken by the redundant ancient man. I looked around and saw that everyone else was far more attentive than my wife, but what really bothered me was that the other people were staring at him as if he were a piece of meat. They stared at him like he was some piece of meat they craved. I looked away and looked down at my Bible for the rest of the sermon. I only looked up when he said that it was time for communion. When I looked up, I saw him take out at a large rusty knife. He started to scream out in what seemed like a language that was so ancient that the normal human brain couldn’t even comprehend what type of syllables he was using or shouting out absolute fucking gibberish. I originally thought it was the second option but I looked around and saw that the entire room was sobbing and my wife was sitting next to me confessing sins that I never wanted to hear. She started to scream about how she thought I was the biggest pile of shit alive, and that she wanted to find someone better. After that, she talked about how she felt tortured every day about how I lied about the dumbest shit. I sat in silence while I took every form of verbal abuse from her vocal prayer. I didn’t know what else to say. Before I knew it, the prayers ceased and the pastor let out a scream before raising the knife up, bringing it down, and cutting a line from the bottom of his elbow to the start of his skin. Blood started to drip out of his long gash as he said, “This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many” before flipping his left arm over and letting the blood fall into the small plastic communion cups. I wanted to run out of the door, but I was paralyzed in fear at what he just did. I looked over at my wife and she was staring at the pastor pour the blood from his arms into the cups. When I finally snapped out of my paralyzed state, I tried grabbing my wife and run out the door, but she slapped my hand away and held me down with both of her arms. I know it’s wrong of me to do, but I tried to slap, pull, and punch her hands off of me, but no matter what I did, her arms held tightly against me. After a couple of seconds, the pastor nodded at a man sitting in the front, the man stood up, walked up to him, and grabbed the cups. With a solemn look on his face, he started to pass the cups out to everyone seated. He was a moderately good looking guy. He had curly brown hair, tight lips, and a nose that was perfectly placed in the middle of his face. When he handed me a cup, I grabbed the cup and sat silently in my seat Once the cups were passed out to everyone the pastor rose up his cup and so did everyone else. My wife held hers up along with everyone else and drank the contents of the cup along with everybody else. I poured the blood in my cup on the floor while everyone else was drinking. The same man got up from his chair and collected the cups from us. The pastor let out a silent prayer before he looked up and said, “Consume this. Remember my soul. Remember my sacrifice. Take it; this is my body” before closing his eyes and using the dull rusty knife to cut off a strip of his meat from his arm. He let out a silent scream when he made the final cuts. With tears falling down his cheeks and intense agony on his face, he used his right hand to cut up the flesh into 9 small pieces. He looked over at the same man and he stood up to collect 8 pieces of the raw flesh. He handed them out to us. I took my piece with reluctance. I looked down at the flesh and saw that it was almost completely black with spots of red. The pastor put his piece of meat in his mouth and took a couple of chews before swallowing. After he opened his mouth and showed us that his mouth was empty, the man stood up, grabbed the rusty knife from the pastor’s hand and slowly shoved it into his heart. The pastor took a couple more ragged breaths before dying in the man’s arms. I couldn’t take it anymore. I threw the piece of meat on the floor and ran out of the building. I kept running until I was back in my car. My wife finally got to the car around 45 minutes after me. We silently drove back home. It has been a week since the incident. My wife hasn’t been acting differently after the sermon, but I just can’t forget about anything that happened. I thought it would just be something that I would be able to forget about. We went back to our old church this Sunday, and it was the first day I started to feel like things were going back to normal. It was all a fool’s dream. Tonight, I heard the sound of singing from outside of our apartment. I looked out the window and saw 6 people standing outside in the parking lot. The man that handed out the blood and flesh of the pastor was standing in the middle of the small crowd holding the head of the pastor. He pointed at me and mouthed out, “You’re the next pastor.” I turned away from the window and called the cops. Of course, they were fucking gone by the time the cops arrived. I tried to tell them what happened at the church, but they just told me that they weren’t able to investigate anything with zero evidence. Especially when the church doesn’t exist. So that is why I am coming to you guys. Like I said, my name is Hayong, and I need your help. Please PM me on Reddit or on my Facebook page if you have any idea on what I should do, but also take my warning. Category:Fanfic Category:Creepypasta